Daddy
by Metroid13
Summary: Kyle Reese is always dead. And always a hero. Reflections from John and the final moments before Kyle steps through the time portal. Takes place during Dungeons and Dragons.


**Daddy**

John dreamt about his father sometimes.

He'd be sitting at a table, with his mom and dad. Sarah would be beautiful, warm and intense, positively radiant with energy. And John would shudder every time they looked at one another, shudder under the weight of that bond they had between them, both of them unshakable in their loyalty to one another. John would die to protect her. She would hate that, but it was true. To leave her was to invite a void into his life, black and gaping, waiting to suck him into nothingness. How would he live without her? He depended on her, but he would die for her anyway. He loved his mother with all his heart, even with what they might have between them. Even with their spates, their disagreements. They held too much together to come apart so easily.

When John looked at his father, he felt nothing. Kyle Reese was featureless and dull. Sarah's appearance was blinding to John; she left a mark in his vision when he closed his eyes, it was like staring at the sun for too long. But Kyle? Kyle was dead. It was like looking a piece of growth on a wall. Moss. Dead and decayed. An accepted blank spot. He may as well not have been there, annoying John with his presence. John couldn't tell anything to him. He wouldn't understand. He couldn't confide in that stranger. That stranger didn't know John. He shouldn't have been there.

Yet there he was all the same. It made John angry.

Kyle would... reach out to John and grip his shoulder. And to John it was like a baby doing that. Trying... feebly to grasp him. Kyle's grip would slip easily away from him, and Sarah would have to hold Kyle's hand. And she would guide his hand to John's shoulder. She would clasp her palm over his hand, to steady it. Hold it. Kyle kept slipping, but she held him there, almost as though she depended on his hand being there, touching John.

She would look at John. And the look was a glare.

And Kyle would just stare blankly, dead to the world, and dead to his son. _Always_ dead. And always a hero.

--

The comm channel was abuzz with activity.

"Type 500 tank sighted at the entrance."

"Rockets primed and aimed; waiting for signal."

"There's a bunch of T's patrolling around the entrance."

"Yeah, looks like a bunch of 600s, but y'know how they all look alike."

"Reese, track em' with the flexy-sight."

Sergeant Tech-Com Kyle Reese grunted as his name was called. Goddamn, but he was out of it. "Did not copy, say again?"

He could almost hear the exasperated sigh on the other line, but John Connor was more restrained than that; "Cover the 600s."

"Wilco," Kyle muttered into his comm.

He was lying prone amidst the ruins of an old building. Whatever its dimensions had been, however many stories it had once proudly stood, no matter what purpose it had once served, it only served one now: concealment and hard, concrete shielding from plasma fire. Right ahead of him stood a similarly derelict facility, although it was in much better condition than the shattered structure Kyle lay in. It stood about several stories off the ground, and it was mostly sleek black and boxlike in construction. Above its blast door entrance were these words, etched in grey paint: "TOPANGA CANYON CYBER MISSIONS FACILITY."

Below that was the tri-triangle logo, with the sleek white words "Cyberdyne Systems" underneath.

It had survived the war relatively intact; which meant it was almost completely totaled as far as craters, chipping, and explosive markings covering the surface of it were concerned. But it was still standing, which made it a survivor. Kyle wasn't sure if he liked that or hated the idea of a surviving building. That represented a target. Nobody ever went in _skyscrapers,_ for example, cause the HK-aerials would pick your signal up in nothing flat...

Well, anyway. There was a tank in front of the blast doors, and about a hundred surrounding Terminators walking back and forth in a staggered column formation. They'd been doing this unceasingly for the last two hours as John Connor's 1st Army positioned itself in front of the stout black building. Kyle was frankly amazed that they hadn't been sighted yet.

Ordinarily there'd be about ten tanks right here, covering this location. Skynet made you pay in blood if you wanted to take something from it, but now it could no longer do that; the defense network had been shattered in the past month, effectively scrambling Skynet's efforts past the east and west coasts. The lesser slave artifints dotting the rest of the world were screeching for support from their mother, but it would take Skynet months to repair its network, which would, Kyle was given to understand, take at least a couple'a dozen satellites in orbit.

It was the perfect time to strike. Skynet had reflexively gone on defense with its heavy-duty stuff, but John Connor wasn't satisfied to recoup his numerous losses over the years and wait for a big push as Skynet started to turtle up; he'd gone right on the offensive.

And now that offensive was huddling outside a little black building. Kyle had no idea why they'd stopped, but he trusted John's judgment... just as he trusted that his brother, Derek, was gonna be alright. He'd... been captured last week.

John told him personally, "Your brother is gonna be alright, Kyle. Just trust me."

And Kyle trusted him. He wanted to stay behind, so he could make sure his brother was alright, but... John needed him. Told him that he needed him. And that was all there was to it. He'd taken part in the offensive. Put his brother, who was going to be alright, out of his mind.

Kyle marveled at how John was so masterfully able to do this to him. Anyone else and Kyle would have punched the bastard out and called him a liar. He'd have gone out and found Derek himself. The Reese's didn't fucking play the abandonment game anymore, not since Century. That shit didn't fly. But it was John Connor.

It was John, and Kyle was here now. And it felt _right_, too.

All the Terminators kept looking out towards the ruins, their beady red eyes scanning constantly. Chances were the resistance's com activity had been picked up, and the Terminators were expecting a fight. They were all armed with phased plasma pistol/carbines and could target and _hit_ a penny a mile away, usually. The nearby HK tank only made things look even more grim.

An attack like this was suicide by most accounts, but the resistance had a trump card of their own to play. One of those cards was crouching near Kyle, two carbines held individually in its hands. It was waiting to destroy its own brothers.

"General Maxwell."

"General Connor?"

"Start the bombardment."

"Yessir."

There was a dull thumping sound from Kyle's six, over a mile away. The reprogrammed Terminator near Kyle turned its head up as a noise like a freight-train going full speed over head began to roar in Kyle's ears.

Plumes of dirt and debris began to rain outside the entrance to the facility, smashing and scything down Skynet's assembled minions in droves. As one organism they began to trot in all different directions. The tank remained motionless, as though nothing was going on. An artillery shell bounced off one of its treads with a resonating _clang!_ and smacked into the ground nearby. The noise of the shells piercing the ground all at once was thunderous, ear-shattering. The land itself seemed to shake and distort even as Kyle tried to keep one of the Terminators sighted with his flexy-scope.

Finally, after about a minute the bombardment came to an end. There was no sound but the sound of dust and dirt raining down to the ground. The surviving Terminators began to methodically seek cover among their broken compatriots. Kyle suppressed a shudder as he heard the tank broadcasting Skynet's orders in a language he couldn't understand. Lots of guttural sounds and then sudden, romanticized smoothness. Even the gender changed in mid sequence.

"All sectors report in," John said on the comm, his voice suddenly gruff and incredibly tense. Here it comes...

Kyle's section leader demanded that everyone in his squad report. Kyle said that he was still ok and ready to fire. The Terminator near Kyle, in a thick accent Kyle couldn't place, responded in the affirmative just like his human compatriots.

There was silence for a few seconds. The assembled machines outside of the facility continued to stare out into the wasteland, waiting for the attack they were expecting to endure.

John's voice filled the airwaves once more, and a final time; "I'm receiving the OK signal from all sectors. Let's hold on a moment..."

John kept speaking; "Kyle. Be careful, alright?"

He was speaking to _him._ Personally, so no one else could hear it. It wasn't the first time he'd done this. John liked Kyle. In a strange sort of way that made Kyle sometimes wonder if he didn't... well, that wouldn't matter, at any rate. Still, John had his inner circle, his generals, his advisors. Kyle wasn't part of any of that, yet John paid attention to him anyway. It made him feel... special. And very strange at the same time, like something was going on that he wasn't necessarily privy to. John Connor had a way of doing shit like that.

Kyle transmitted and said, "Yes, sir."

John's voice went out over the open line again: "Alright, light them the fuck up."

The nearby Terminator stood up and took aim.

Kyle Reese grinned. _With pleasure._

The world exploded in a blue, white, and orange flash of light.

--

Sarah knocked on John's door. He knew it was Sarah because Charley was downstairs with Derek Reese, and Derek was doing his level best not to bleed to death (between _yelling_ at John,) and he knew that Cameron was outside in the shed carving up the T-triple-eight like a ham.

And John was in his room, trying not to faint. The world felt really dizzy and uncertain, which probably had a lot to do with the fact that John had just given up a hefty sum of blood to sustain Derek Reese. His _uncle._

Now... now you expect people to y'know, be thankful for that, right? John really didn't know. Maybe Derek _was_ thankful. Or maybe he just hated John's guts, and for good fucking reason.

_HE'S MY BLOOD. MY BLOOOOD!_

Oh god. "What?" John groaned.

Sarah walked into the room. John, face down in his pillow, didn't see this.

"Are you alright?"

John thought about this for a moment. He'd been giving blood to the guy through very thin tubes, felt dizzy during the process, and then attempted to console Derek whilst the man screamed at him, trying to figure out where John, twenty years from that moment, had sent his brother.

Needless to say, he didn't feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Sarah forcing John into not telling Derek _anything_ in the slightest didn't help.

"No," John said bluntly.

Sarah wisely stayed near the door. If she tried to sit down on his bed he would have kicked her, or something. Maybe. "John... he was delirious. You did nothing wrong."

John rolled up from his spot and stared at his mother. "Not _yet._"

Sarah sighed. She looked... _wrinkled,_ all of a sudden, like really older than she was. It was a weird thing to see for John. "Don't start doubting yourself, John. You don't know where that'll lead."

"So far it's led me to having my... uncle dying on the kitchen table and me not being able to reassure him. Cause I _can't,_ right? Cause I don't _trust_ anyone enough to tell them about Kyle."

She nodded at that. "We can't tell him anything. I'm sorry, John."

What made her act like this? She was so _right, _so convicted, it wasn't fair. It was _cruel,_ both to him and to Derek. And then John got the blame shouldered on him, for... for _killing_ his own father. He got the blame, even now. Even when Sarah told him not to tell Derek a _thing._ It was _his fault? _Why? Where was the sense in that?

He felt himself burning; it was hard to keep his vision straight. It made no sense... just... no sense at all. It was bad enough not having a dad... But to not even _acknowledge_ his identity when faced with family itself was... unbearable. It was insane.

"Get out," John whispered.

"How do you feel?" Sarah asked, appearing, for all the world, unmoved by his emotions. She knew when to be prudent. But it hurt her inside, he knew that. He just wished she would acknowledge it.

"Dizzy," John said. "Just a little. L-look, get out, alright?"

She nodded silently. At least she respected him that much. She backed away and closed the door behind her.

John stared up at the ceiling and just breathed for awhile, trying to calm himself down. There was nothing he could do about Derek right now. Not if Sarah had anything to do with it. He just had to accept that for now.

For some reason, he started to envy Derek. And his mother. And Cameron, to an extent. It was a hateful sort of envy, one that makes you so jealous that your stomach hurts. It was because they'd seen his dad. John had never seen Kyle Reese in his life. He was a non-factor half the time. Something easy John could find to be bitter over when they wasn't anything else in plain view. But... he'd been curious, right? Kind of. Not enough so far.

Having Derek Reese, this other soldier, this warrior from the future around suddenly (and possibly about to perish) changed all that. It made John wonder. A lot. What was that man like? Who was Kyle? Who was dad?

He'd never know until he was forty fucking years old, and that... _really_ _hurt_.

--

The Terminator looked almost pathetic as it struggled to stand on one leg, bleached as it was in the scratchy blue nigh vision of Kyle's flexy-sight. Its crimson eyes seemed to bleed down its face as he observed it for a moment, aligning the firing reticle directly against its head.

Kyle gently pressed the trigger and the Terminator's head popped off and disintegrated. The rest of its metallic body crashed to the ground. Kyle grunted, satisfied with that, and got up.

"Show's over," someone said on the open comm.

Resistance fighters all over the place were slowly trudging towards the courtyard outside the facility. Strewn about everywhere like pieces of gravel were destroyed Terminators and charred human corpses. Most of the human corpses weren't even human at all, too. Those reprogrammed machines had led the charge, and had paid for it dearly.

Not that they cared.

The smoldering remnant of the HK Type 500 ground tank stood off to the side, cracked and shattered in multiple spots. Its rotating plasma cannons had drooped down. The Tech-Com fighters made their way around it and assembled near the entrance. Most of them were busily reloading their weapons. Others were smoking steadily and looking every which way. Still more were dead silent, merely waiting for their newest orders.

Kyle set himself up near the Terminator he'd taken out, using its chassis as an impromptu seat. He looked around slowly for the rest of his section group and only saw the monolithic Terminator he'd been stationed with. Everyone else was absent, which pretty much made them dead. Kyle had a splitting headache.

Kyle absently checked himself for wounds. The combat high sometimes dulled your senses and by the time you realized you'd been shot you keeled over and died. But he was fine, as it turned out. Not even a scratch. That struck Kyle as _insane._ A million plasma bolts must have roared around him during the battle, yet _none of them hit. _He and that Terminator survived while everyone else in his squad had burst into chunks. Phased plasma killed you swiftly, but painfully. There was hardly anything left of you if you suffered a direct hit.

How long had it taken? About thirty minutes. The tank had been taken care of pretty smoothly by the rocket teams, but the rest of the Terminators had taken cover and needed to be persuaded. Connor had eventually gotten exasperated and ordered the reprogrammed Terminators into battle, backed up by the First Army. And... then it was just over. People died, Terminators burned, and the resistance was once again victorious. Score one for humanity and Ref-Com.

But what the hell was inside that facility? What made it so goddamned important?

Kyle's headset crackled, "Reese, Connor wants you at the top. C'mon."

Goddamn, but what made _him_ so important? He gathered his stuff and, along with the Terminator he'd been with for the past few hours, made his way up to the front of the army group. Everyone was already making themselves at home, erecting tents and temporary medical treatment stations. Once he got there he received a few good-natured glares for his trouble by some of the high-rankers. They were very much aware of John's favorable treatment to him, and were as flabbergasted with it as Kyle.

It didn't take long for John to reach his command group, at the forefront of the assemblage. General Connor moved methodically through the ranks of soldiers, pausing occasionally to nod, shake hands with, or even hug anyone who needed it. He didn't say a word, and neither did anyone else. That was kind of the amazing thing about him. He commanded without words, moved men to victory by gesture and action alone.

As this went on, Kyle found himself staring at the Terminator with him. It was garbed in a simple white shirt and khakis. One of its carbines was missing, and it held the remaining one in both hands. It was also pretty huge. Most infiltrators were, but this guy was _really_ big. Bigger than any Kyle had seen. The Terminator was peering obediently at General Connor. Kyle looked along with him, checking the crowd for any of its compatriots; they were all supposed to wear white.

As it turned out, he only saw one; a young brunette woman. It looked almost like a teenager, and it shadowed John's every move. Looked like these two were the only survivors out of the 'bots.

"How do you feel?" Kyle asked.

The Terminator looked at him. "Elaborate," it said, accent thick of Austria.

"All your robot pals got wasted, 'cept for one." He coughed suddenly and spat onto the concrete. "How does that make you feel?"

"They accomplished their mission; terminate enemy Skynet units until they are terminated during the attempt."

"You feel nothing about them? Personally?"

The machine shrugged. Motions like that freaked Kyle out, especially now. "Negative. I felt no kinship with them."

Kyle sighed. "Nothin' but guns. Big walking guns. What about Skynet? You feel bad about working against it now?"

"My mission is to subvert Skynet whenever possible. I do not feel as if I have betrayed it."

"No lingering feelings..." Kyle smirked. He knew he was teasing the thing, testing its limits. He'd never talked to one before. Ever. It was sort of neat, and endlessly frightening at the same time.

The Terminator turned. "Would you betray John Connor?"

Kyle answered immediately before any rational thought materialized in his mind. "No. Never."

"Neither would I," the Terminator said. "I am fully committed by my programming to see that his mission is accomplished."

Kyle smiled. Well, then. "That makes two of us, then."

The Terminator cocked an eyebrow.

Meanwhile, General Connor reached the front of the congregation and turned to face his First Army. Beside him was the female Terminator Kyle had spotted before, along with Colonel Sumner and Commander Perry.

"Excellent work," John said. He turned to Sumner. "Get your men together and set up C-4 around the base of the facility. Key structural points, walls, the works. And get me a bag of the stuff."

Sumner saluted and started yelling out orders. John raised his voice. "We're going inside and I need some of you to come in with me. Standard search and destroy mission."

"Are we looking for that secret weapon?" a lieutenant asked. Kyle thought it was a good question, there'd been rumors about such a thing going round for a while now. And why perform a sweep and search if they were already gonna C-4 the place?

"We're going to destroy whatever's in there," was all Connor said. "I'm taking volunteers, right now."

Kyle raised his hand, along with about everyone else in the assembled group. Kyle was a shoe-in, along with the Terminator, the female Terminator, and a bunch of captains and lieutenants. Connor dispensed orders to the rest of them and turned to his little party as soon as the last general got done wishing him luck and telling him to be careful.

"Any of you need to rest?" John asked. He hefted an M25A1 with a flexy-sight, much like the one Kyle carried.

No one needed to rest. They just had questions.

"Why are we doing this, General?"

"I'd have to agree, sir," Kyle said. "We're blowing this place to hell, so what's the point?"

John smiled at Kyle. "I always wanted to hear that out of you, Kyle. Common sense."

Kyle said nothing and looked down, unable to hold Connor's gaze. Statements like that confused the hell out of him.

"Luckily, there's a reason why we're doing this. I have reason to believe that the key to Skynet's whole war effort is hidden in that building."

Almost without prompting they all turned to stare at the structure. Even the big Terminator looked along with them. The only one who hadn't turned was that brunette Terminator. She stood at Connor's side like a cocker spaniel. For a brief moment Kyle felt... jealous. John snapped his finger twice, regaining their attention. "That convince you?"

They all answered in the affirmative.

"Excellent. Meet at the entrance in five minutes."

--

"You related?"

John jumped and whirled around. Charley Dixon smiled at him. For some reason he'd changed out of his EMT garb, evidently preferring a black jacket and matching undershirt. John was wearing a similar arrangement; he was about to go out, after all, and it was kinda cold outside. John was standing a little over Derek Reese's unconscious form, sleeping like a rock as he was.

And oh Christ, Charley asked if...

"Uh..." John said.

Charley seemed to be doing his best to keep that smile on his face, which was probably hard. This whole situation was fucking awkward. Hadn't seen John in eight years and... man, John didn't even wanna think about that. He already had way too much on his mind.

"Sarah told me he's, uh, not your father," Charley said. "I was just asking, Johnny, given the same blood type I wouldn't think it'd be much of a stretch."

"He's dead," John said, rather unnecessarily. He looked at Charley. "My real dad, I mean." _And you. You wanted to be my father. _For all of Kyle's mystique, Charley would probably be a much better parent. That was almost a given. But he wouldn't... he wouldn't be _dad. _

John just about hurled at his inner ramblings. WHAT dad?! He didn't have a fucking dad, he was dead. A hero. Charley could have been his dad and there'd be no goddamned difference. None at all.

_Ha. Not as simple as that, John._

Stupid shit...

Charley took a deep breath, "So you're not related, then?"

John looked down at Derek. Still out like a light. He kept twitching, though. "I guess we are." He gave a side-long smile to Charley.

"Figured. John... are you ok?" God, he looked so awkward. How much had Sarah told him? Did she go through the Luke Skywalker bit?

"I'm fine." He kept staring at Derek.

_How much? How much do you look like him? _

"I've been going through a lot."

"No kidding," Charley said, "You know him?"

John chuckled. "Nah. Something tells me I will soon, though."

Charley blinked and said nothing about that. "If you need anything, I'm gonna be here a while."

John nodded. "Thanks. For all of this, y'know?"

Charley shook his head. "Don't worry about it, I'm... glad to help. You sure you're ok, John?"

_How much? Do you? Look like him? _God, what did Derek know about Kyle? Everything. Everything, it must had been only a few months or so since he'd last "seen" him. Could they talk about him? He didn't even know this guy, and this guy was already blaming John for Kyle's death. How could they get anything done like that? How could John find anything out like that? He wanted to know. He _needed_ to know, very suddenly, all quick-like, like he was suffocating and he needed oxygen. Wanted to know what _dad,_ Kyle was like. The person, what he looked like, what he _was_ like.

There was nothing he could do now, though. Nothing at fucking all. He'd drown now.

He needed time to think. To be alone, out of this madhouse.

"Just dizzy, y'know, from the blood and all. I'm going for a drive," John said. He grabbed the keys off the counter.

"Drive...?" Charley scratched his head. "Uh."

How much better would Charley have been? Scale of one to ten. If John had Kyle and Charley to choose from as a parent, then who? Who? Kyle, Charley, Kyle, Kyle, Charley, Kyle...

John turned from him, pocketing the keys. Derek looked alright. He wouldn't be missed here. "See you."

"Uh. Yeah. Be careful, John."

--

There were no lights. None at all. The entire installation, from the ground floor to the imbedded entrance which led to the wider underground compound, everything was pitch black.

It was that imbedded entrance Kyle and the rest of Connor's team stood in front of. Kyle saw the world in an eerie spectrum of glowing blue, thanks to a tiny visor built into his helmet. He could see the outskirts of the darkness right at the bottom of his vision, and the contrast was frankly scary. A little before Judgment Day he'd remembered being taken with Derek to see some scary movie they weren't legally permitted to watch. It was some new age sci-fi horror flick, taking place in a derelict space ship or some shit. This sort of felt like that.

Except instead of aliens or psychopaths, the only monsters around were mechanical.

"No a-way in, sir," some captain muttered. Beyond the door, Kyle could hear whirring motors and sounds of activity; Skynet's machines. Above him, footsteps and sounds of activity; humans rigging the building with C-4.

"There's a way in," Connor said. It was a statement, not a refutation.

"C-4?" Kyle asked.

John didn't answer; not at once, anyhow. "Cameron."

"Yes?"

Kyle blinked. The only woman in their group wasn't a woman at all, and he'd just heard Connor address it by _name._ That surge of jealousy ran through him again. It was a cold, sort of undefinable feeling.

"Tell us what's behind here, Tin Man?"

Twin orbs of blue light surged briefly in Kyle's optics. The Terminator next to Kyle remained silent, watching alongside Reese. It occurred to Kyle that the "Tin man" was probably a lot more advanced than this one. He wondered how it felt about _that._

"Four T-800s and seven auto turrets," the T reported.

"Where're the turrets?"

"T-800s are in front, armed with Westinghouse M20-A Series 2 phased plasma pistols. The turrets are covering the rear. They're likely armed with standard .50 BMG rounds. I can't make out anything else."

One of the lieutenants spoke up, "Let's get the rocket teams down here."

John Connor shook his head. "No, no. We shouldn't waste time." He looked at the two Terminators. "Break it down."

The two machines strode over to the corrugated metal door.

"Get to cover," the T-800 advised.

"Cameron" hefted a plasma pistol and, with her left hand, tore a hole through the metal. The T-800 did the same thing and they both expanded the hole with their arms, for all the world as though they were cutting through butter instead of steel. The result on the other side was fairly quick; plasma bolts began to wash over the other side of the blast door. Even while squatting at its side Kyle could feel the intense heat that seemed to echo from beyond the door. He found himself reaching into his pocket for a photograph that wasn't there. John Connor, who was sitting aside Kyle (little actions like that. It was little actions like that that made Kyle so confused) noticed this and smiled sadly at the soldier. He'd given Kyle that picture of his mother. Gave it without so much as a word, practically. Just completely thoughtless, like it was nothing. But it was_ everything,_ because Kyle was obsessed with the mystique behind that photo, that woman who he'd never meet. He felt _connected_ through this man to her, and John probably realized that. Entertained it, no less.

But for what reasons he entertained it, Kyle was unsure.

When the Terminators had made large enough holes they switched hands and started to return fire with their plasma pistols. The bolts coming from their opposite numbers quickly lessened; they were seeking cover. The machine gun turrets quickly opened up, creating a rapid, unending staccato of thunderous reports off the metallic blast door.

"Tear it down!" John yelled.

The Terminators began ripping sheets of steel off the door, tossing them forward or backwards like thin peelings of paper. They both jerked unceasingly as bullets tore their flesh apart, revealing their true natures underneath the ripped skin. Eventually there was enough lee-way to grant the human team access, and Connor's soldiers began to return fire. Kyle quickly found and targeted one of the turrets; it was hanging off the ceiling a few yards away. It was easy to find because the licks of flame that were spouted off its turret made a good target in both the flexy-sight and his night vision. He vaporized it with a quick burst from the M25A1 and backed away, letting one of Connor's lieutenants take the next shot.

Well, he would have, cause one of the turrets blew the back of his head off. He collapsed without so much as a sound. John cursed and screamed for the two Terminators to remove those turrets.

"The T-800s are still active," Cameron said.

"I don't fucking care, take those things out!"

"Yes, sir."

They both moved forward and into the hall, crouching and blasting away with their pistols. Loud explosive coughs echoed from within. There was a loud sizzling explosion as one of the Terminators --resistance or Skynets-- blew apart.

"Give em' cover!" John yelled.

Kyle sucked in air and pivoted himself past the broken steel once again. The two white-clad Terminators were weaving back and forth in the hall, blasting at the turrets and avoiding the plasma bolts from their counterparts. Kyle aimed down the flexy-sight at one of the corners within the hall; it appeared to be some sort of junction, and it was pitch black along with the rest of the facility. A gun-metal grey Terminator skull peered back at him, red eyes blazing. The Terminator was aiming at one of the good robots, though, so Kyle felt safe enough in taking his time. He aligned the scope and grunted as a red-hot plasma bolt punched through the T's skull, dropping it immediately. One of the lieutenants let out a whoop of laughter as he downed one himself. Down the hall, the last of the machine gun turrets was blown to pieces.

"Clear?" Connor said, voice loud and tense.

Something big and glowing clattered to the floor amid the two friendly Terminators. Kyle recognized it at once; it was a plasma cell. You could eject it from your gun, shake it up a bit, and then toss it and it'd explode violently like a grenade. Those two were fucking done for-

Cameron, fast as lightning and seeming entirely unlike her larger counterpart, scooped the cell up in her hand and tossed it back from whence it came. The cell detonated a second later, bathing the hall in brilliant white light and possibly taking out a healthy portion of the hall itself.

Kyle blinked as a charred Terminator skull flew past him, red eyes still shining brilliantly.

"It is clear," the larger Terminator said, something resembling humor in his voice.

"I'm glad we brought those bastards along," Kyle muttered as Connor's team picked up and started into the hall. Parts of it were melting after the brief, but brutal exchange. When all was said and done, they'd lost two lieutenants. Kyle didn't really know either of em', but Connor looked a bit shaken by it. He turned to Kyle and let out a sigh.

"Had no choice," he said.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Sir, what's down here? What are you not telling us?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Reese. Not yet."

--

John kept checking the rear-view mirror. When he invariably saw nothing but an empty road behind him, he merely went back to keeping his eyes glued to the street ahead. Well ingrained paranoia made shit like that instinctual, not self-conscious. You never knew if, somehow, you'd been made. One little mistake, one errant lapse in security... and it could all come crashing down.

But he didn't feel like he was being pursued. Not by anyone who'd want to hurt him, anyhow. He fully expected to see Cameron riding up in a car sooner or later, keeping track of him, though. She'd finished taking care of the T-888, so there'd be nothing left to hold her back. John sort of hated that aspect of having an indestructible single-minded bodyguard; they didn't give you any privacy. Privacy was exactly what John wanted at this point. All of this shit, all day, it was a bit taxing. First the car chase, then watching that T-888 pummel Cameron, giving blood, that soldier _screaming _at him for something that wasn't technically his fault... for some reason, and maybe this was simply because of Derek Reese's impromptu entrance into his life --that moment of clarity, of revelation, had been unreal. _He's your uncle. YOUR uncle-- _... it all made him think of Kyle.

Kyle Reese, Sergeant Tech-Com. One of John's most trusted friends during the war. John's father.

For a while... for a while, it hadn't concerned John all that much. He'd been sad about it, sure. He could remember talking to the Terminator, saying, bitterly, how he'd never meet his real dad until he was forty five or something. But that was the thing... he didn't just _lack_ a real dad... he had substitutes. Todd Voight, some lazy-ass bastard who couldn't be concerned with John in the slightest. That guy wasn't a shining example. Then there was... well, there was the Terminator. It was something John didn't feel comfortable with thinking about.

That _machine_ was the closest thing to a father he'd ever had before Charley Dixon. It had been so huge, so comforting in its invincibility, so _willing_ to do anything for John that the boundary between bodyguard warrior and _parent_ just began to erase itself gradually. It was kind of screwed up, but there it was. He'd been beside himself after the Terminator had Sarah kill it.

That was a frigging _taste_, a feel for what a father could be like. He'd wanted more. He started to feel that Sarah wasn't enough, even with the bond they shared.

Well, it hadn't taken long. Sarah, owing to his ambidextrous nature, got a job as an EMT when they were living in West Fork, about two years after all that. She met Charley. Charley feel head over heels for her and they left the dingy apartment they'd been sleeping in to come live with him.

John hadn't been kind to him. He'd been judgmental. Is this guy invincible? Can he shrug off bullets? Can he change the fate of mankind selflessly? He'd felt inadequate to John for a while, when John was still fresh back into the whole "Judgment Day" mentality. But eventually that faded. He'd stopped feeling so paranoid like his mom, and he just lived. And Charley didn't seem so useless anymore. He felt _real_, warm and understanding, like a dad. John could talk to him, all frankly. They could _talk_ about real things, real stuff. It'd been... it sort of...

Sarah would have called it "becoming complacent," but John hated that. What he aspired for was normality. Before they had to leave Charley, before Cromartie.

And that was it, really. Charley was gone after Sarah decided he needed to be gone. Just another guerilla in the jungle, practically. You gotta deal with this, it's our life, John. No one is ever safe. If you say anything like that I'll pound you.

Yeah, alright, mom.

A car up ahead of John was slowing down. Construction up ahead. He started to tap the steering wheel methodically, floundering as he was in his personal maelstrom of thoughts. It felt kind of like a relief, cause he got to think about what'd been bothering him, but it also scared him, cause he didn't know if it'd hurt or not. If it'd kill him or not.

Well. Anyway, that day had been hard, when they left Charley. He was gone. New wife now and all. But right then? When it happened? He hadn't spoken to Sarah once. And not the day after that, when they entered Colorado. When they got to Arizona they were pretty much alright again, but the bitterness remained. There was dad. There was normalcy. And... thanks to Skynet, kiss goodbye to all that. It was like fate was conspiring to keep a stable father figure out of his life, keep the focus on the amazon princess of a mother he had. Would it be so bad, though?

Would it? It got him thinking.

What if Kyle lived?

What would have happened? Who would oversee John's training? Would Sarah have been strong enough to do it if Kyle still lived? Or would they compliment each other, both help out, both make John the warrior, the leader he needed to be? Well, Kyle could just tell him, since Kyle had _known_ him in the future, after all. It'd be like consulting a manual instead of learning everything through hard trial and error.

Bah, would it? That was the _thing,_ John didn't know... because Kyle was dead. Dead and a hero. Always that hero. He'd never know what he'd be like as a father, if he'd get drunk off his ass, if he'd be lazy, if he'd be unbearable, if he'd be over_bearing,_ it was all a big mystery to John. And somehow that hurt even worse than anything else.

There'd never be a perfect father figure for him, because there was always Kyle. That figure in the background and on the horizon. Kyle was more than any of these people. He was _John's_ father, the man from the future, Sarah's mentor and her one, unconditional love.

But he was _gone._ Not even gone, he was just a void. A man-sized void where John could try and fit in puzzle pieces to see what he could make. That lack of knowledge was _killing him._ Part of him wanted Kyle Reese because he was Kyle, a super soldier badass from the future and all-around cool guy. And... and he wanted a dad. A real dad. Someone who understood, more implicitly than any other man could.

John took in a deep breath. He was gonna start crying if he kept along this. That was a fact. And he'd crash the fucking jeep if he did that. God, Derek didn't even _know_ about any of this yet, and that was even... Let's switch gears for a while, Johnny, then get back to it when you're more rational, alright? Cool.

He frobbed the radio dial a bit. Music always got him immersed, made him forget. He could turn it up real loud and just lose himself for a while, concentrate on that instead of the usual angst. Well founded angst, admittedly, but it pissed John off all the same.

He turned until he found something neat and cheery; a jaunty, summer-vacation sort of tune with lots of ambient water effects. The lyrics were pretty engrossing, sort of playing in perfect symphony with the music.

_"--diving, dipping so gracefully, I'm weightless and my heart knows calm and yet I still..."_

Then it descended into gurgling babble, but still with a tune. The water effects sort of clinched the whole feeling of it, really. The singer was male, and he sounded vaguely familiar. John smirked and started to tap the steering wheel in rhythm to the notes.

_"I feel clean and cool incensed, my home and even when the people stare! It's not so bad cause' my friends swim with me, but we always steer clear of the sharks... abo-o-ove."_

Eh. Kinda silly as far as lyrics go, but John played along. The construction ahead cleared up and he made a sudden left. He felt like going to the beach now. It wasn't far away, and it was a school day, so there wouldn't be anyone there besides old shell collectors and shit. He could swim, maybe? Run around, at least. Then get back and see what there was to see.

_"And even here, safe and pleased... I need yo-o-o-u-..."_

John bobbed his head as the music reached a crescendo and transferred into the refrain.

_"Daddy! Come protect me! (yeah)"_

What the fuck?!

"_Daddy! If you can... (yeah) Daddy! Swim to me-e-e!"_

He just sat there driving, face suddenly shocked and slackened. He felt like he'd been duped.

"_Daddy!"_

"Daddy..."

_"I'm lost without yo-o-o-ou!"_

John angrily flipped the radio dial. And, as it turned out, he nearly crashed the fucking jeep.

--

It took a day to reach.

A day of near endless fighting. The facility had seemed to go on forever. There were generators and... jerry-rigged equipment _everywhere._ Jet engines, gas-generators, things that had radioactive symbols on them. They were all loud, they all generated power for one purpose, it seemed. Halls, stretching on for hours. And Skynet's machines occupying every step of the way.

And it was this thing out in front of them, lying within the huge, cavernous chamber, that was the center of the Skynet facility.

Kyle felt underwhelmed. It was a big room with a tiny pit in the middle. Lots of wires and shit. And plenty of Terminators around, patrolling endlessly. Legions of them. There were a few infiltrators, too. John Connor, Cameron, the T-800, and Kyle Reese stared down at the device from an observation room, safely behind a plexiglas window. Behind them lay the rest of the facility, smoldering and burning as it was in most places.

Most of the robots within the chamber stared right back at them, not firing. For good reason, Kyle guessed, as the window here looked like it couldn't be shattered.

What the hell was it down there? What was it that it looked so pathetic and it cost the lives of four people? They were the only ones left, after wadding through legions of defenses and every conceivable Terminator and defense Skynet had ever built. They were lucky this place was human built, otherwise they wouldn't have lived; Skynet kept most of its facilities without oxygen, filled with carbon monoxide, pitch black... and there were plasma defenses bristling around every corner, to boot.

Still, that didn't mean this had been a fucking picnic. Kyle's ears were ringing constantly and he felt like he was about to collapse.

"What is this?" Kyle asked.

John stared inside. Cameron and the other Terminator followed suit, appearing mostly unmoved. The big Terminator seemed to fixate itself on one of the infiltrators within. There appeared to be dozens in there, along with a hefty compliment of regular Ts. There were also two HK man-killer drones; basically miniature tanks.

"This is Skynet's trump card, Kyle. With this, it can ensure its existence and ultimate victory."

Kyle was watching the two doors at their flanks; machines could come charging through at any minute. "The secret weapon," Kyle said sensibly.

"That's right."

"What is it?" They couldn't come all this way and just... not _know_, right? They were gonna pull out; couldn't fight against something like that, inside of there. There were too many of them. But he had to at least know what this thing was, why it was so important.

John looked at Cameron. She returned the gaze.

John turned fully to face Kyle Reese. "That, Kyle, is a time displacement device; a time machine."

Kyle gulped. Ok. Ok, something he didn't understand. Fine. That happened a lot in Tech-Com. Skynet was basically a master of research and development. _Time machine._ It sounded important. "W-what does that mean?"

Cameron spoke up, "Time dilation device; it surrounds the subject organism in a vortex which tears through thread and borderworld dimensions and time weavings to teleport the user back to a specific date in history. Going back in time, basically."

Well. It _was_ important, then. Kyle looked down. "So... they want to use it to change history, then?"

John nodded. "Yes. Skynet's last best chance. The war's moving back in time now, Reese."

Kyle stared into the chamber. The infiltrators were lining up in rows. Oh, Jesus... How did Connor know all of this? Was it Cameron?

"We've gotta stop them," Kyle said. "But-"

John raised a hand. "Don't worry. We will. Right now."

Kyle gawked at him. "W-we can't, not against all that firepower, sir. They know we're coming."

"We can." He looked at the two Terminators, sighing. "And we will."

"Sir, even for you that's... suicide. We should at least get more people down here."

"There's no time. As soon as the infiltrators have been dispatched, they're gonna blow the whole thing up."

"What can we do, though?"

About ten infiltrators of varying appearance --that probably made them T-888s-- stepped onto the platform and waited. Almost instantaneously, crackles of electricity began to circulate around the chamber, bathing the assemblage of machines in an eerie blue light. A loud noise of hydraulics and... just _energy _running throughout the complex centralized itself in the chamber and emanated to the group of humans watching from outside. A sudden pinpoint of white light flashed in the center of the infiltrators and expanded like a growing star, enveloping the machines, blinding everyone to the brilliance of what was happening within. Kyle stared at the scene, unable to pull his eyes away.

The light died away as suddenly as it'd appeared. The industrial noises whirred to a halt. Everything in the chamber appeared much as it had been, except all of the infiltrators on the platform were now gone. Not even ash left.

Slowly, methodically, the next batch of infiltrators stepped forward.

John looked at Cameron. She stared into the chamber. "All T-888s. The rest are varied units, including..."

Kyle jerked slightly as he heard something metal clanging to the... right? He looked at the western door. Maybe it was nothing,

"There is a T-1000 down there," the bigger Terminator reported. "We will not survive if we attempt to disrupt this."

"We won't have to worry about him," John said grimly. "Only the metalheads down there. They're the ones who can't go."

Kyle was looking at the western door when it suddenly burst open. Shining grey metal and a pair of hellish red eyes fixed themselves upon Kyle Reese, plasma pistol raised.

"Shit!"

Cameron and the T-800 turned fluidly and started blasting however many Ts there were down there -- Kyle didn't get much of a good look, he was fumbling with his rifle, trying to aim. A blast of plasma gurgled past Reese and slammed into the wall behind him. He hurriedly returned fire in its direction; the T wouldn't miss its next shot.

A large, satisfying explosion lit up his optics. That thing wouldn't be getting up again. A wave of heat seemed to wash over Kyle, coming in the direction of the attacking Terminators; with that much plasma it was probably nothing less hot than a sun in that hallway. Amidst the flying plasma Kyle checked on the others. The two Terminators just stood there and fired constantly. John, though...

He was standing right alongside the two Terminators, firing from the hip. Plasma bolts sang past him and his two machine servants, for all the world as though he were nothing less than a machine himself. Kyle, in fact, was the only one crouching or even remotely trying _not_ to get shot at.

But like Kyle, John wasn't a machine. He sprang up and, without thinking, ran toward his commander. John barely noticed until Kyle shoved him to the ground with a yell of "GET DOWN, YOU IDIOT!"

"Sonofabitch!" John howled as he toppled over, smartly letting go of his rifle. A plasma bolt flew directly over his body a second later, vaporizing the hairs off Kyle's arm as it retracted to fire once again into the oncoming machines. Kyle crouched over his struggling superior and fired wildly into the hall until nothing but smoke emanated from it.

"They're gone," Cameron said over the din of a secondary explosion.

Connor heaved in a breath, "Great. How many was that?" He glared at Kyle as the younger soldier helped him up. "And you, what the fuck was that about?" The Terminators reported seven kills between them. Kyle knew he must had gotten at least one.

Kyle looked away, suddenly feeling as though he'd affronted Connor, somehow. "Sir, you were just standing there."

John stooped down to pick up his rifle. "I would have been fine, Reese."

Kyle suppressed a laugh. How could he be so arrogant like that? He was a brilliant man (almost too brilliant, almost to the point of out-and-out clairvoyance sometimes,) but he perhaps thought a bit too much of his infallibility as a commander. Kyle decided to point this out. "Sir, you're not invincible. If your command staff hasn't told you that yet, here it is. You're not invincible."

Then he braced himself. The carbon sort of smell from the destroyed Terminators filled his senses, and here they were dickering right after all that. Unbelievable.

The general stared at Kyle as if he'd just flown down from another planet. And then, slowly, he grinned. He did that occasionally, whenever Kyle said something he, in a warped sort of way, liked. "Spoken like a goddamned parent, but point taken, Reese." He stared at the soldier for a moment longer as Kyle looked away, slightly embarrassed. John looked bitter.

Kyle, not noticing this, only smirked. He was glad that it hadn't blown up into something unmanageable. He'd just done what he thought was right at the time.

Another flash of light from the chamber. John hurried over to the observation window and peered out as the flash died away.

"They're coming," he said gruffly. "Looks like twenty of them. Reese, get some plasma cells outta that rifle. Cameron, east door, and you too, big guy. Kyle, west with me. We're taking all of these motherfuckers out and getting down there."

--

Sitting on the sand, staring out at the ocean horizon, John couldn't help but feel that forces beyond his control... really, _really_ hated his guts. There were storm clouds on the horizon, grey and really pissed off looking. They'd probably arrive in an hour or two, but they looked bad enough to guarantee a trip back home soon.

The beach _was_ pretty much empty, though. There were a bunch of kids playing down by the waves. A pair of couples kept looking apprehensively at them, perhaps wondering if the next wave wouldn't envelop their kids and make them disappear.

John was thinking about the future. Not about Judgment Day, or the war against the machines. Not Skynet, or whaty'know, _he'd_ do about all that. He thought about his father. The truth was, Kyle would _never_ be there to be John's father. Ever. When they met, in that far-flung future, it would be John as the elder, and Kyle as the soldier.

_That_ was what he had to focus on. Meeting with Kyle as a person, not as a child and he the parent. John couldn't even tell the man about it. Ever. They'd have friendship. They'd have comradeship. They'd never, ever, not in a million years have father and son. It was an impossibility. They _would_ meet on equal terms, as two individuals. They would form that bond in Sarah's photograph. John would confide in him, but always as a friend. Maybe in his own mind... Kyle would be the parent, but what was the point in that if Kyle himself had no idea? That mission in Kyle's future, that odyssey through time and finally his fate at the hands of the Terminator in protecting his mother, would be the defining role in their relationship. The height of it all. John would be the superior. The mastermind. That was all there was to it. John had to focus on making all that happen. Being the bigger man. He _would_ know Kyle Reese, but only in the way fate intended it.

It felt like a perversion. It felt fundamentally wrong. By all counts... it _should_ have been wrong. But it wasn't. Just say it. Spell it out, John. This is the way things are. It's always been like this. He couldn't talk to Derek about it, because that would betray the whole secret. He was... stuck. That was all there was to it. Kyle Reese as John Connor's father, existed in purely physical terms. Kyle Reese, hero from the future and super soldier, the key-keeper of the Connor's destiny, was ever-present.

God, what a drag.

--

Throughout the whole ordeal, Kyle Reese had expected to die every second. Every single second. Waves of metallic monstrosities smashed against Connor's small group, more numerous and vicious than anything else they'd seen in the facility so far. Plasma bolts were like rain. Every moment in his mind he expected to be killed, even as he blasted scores of the Terminators, even as he yelled to Connor in delight at their futile attacks, voice reverberating of combat machismo, he _knew_ he was going to die. This was his last stand.

For some reason, it felt like the end was near for him. Connor looked at him in ways Kyle had never noticed before. They were knowing, bitter glances. He _knew_ something, in all of his brilliance, his practical pre-recognition. It felt like death. It felt like John knew Kyle was going to die, somehow.

And for some reason, Kyle didn't think it was his fault. That he wouldn't warn Reese now, save him for his demise. It felt right. It felt proper. Kyle didn't feel anger at John. He felt pity. He felt sorry. He wanted, insanely, to comfort the man. It was a feeling he'd never experienced before, and it all felt right, and Kyle _knew_ he was going to die.

And...

Well, no one was more surprised than him when all the Terminators had been smashed to pieces, and the chamber, which had flashed intermittently throughout the combat, lay empty. He was alive after all of it. He hadn't been hit once. Neither had John. Nor his Terminator "friends." The time machine stood unbroken, waiting for its next user.

Kyle still felt that feeling of impending death. Maybe he shouldn't get complacent.

As they walked into the chamber, maneuvering carefully past a graveyard of white-washed metal corpses, John looked at the device expectantly, with the air of a man who'd just had something fall into his lap without much effort. He did not look triumphant. Only... yes, only expectant.

"Cameron. Check the machine. I want schematics."

"Alright."

"What are your orders?" the big Terminator asked. For all its menacing qualities, Kyle couldn't help but feel a certain kinship with the thing now, and he didn't know why. It wasn't a "hail fellow well met" sort of comrade-y thing, either. It felt... like a connection.

Kyle suppressed a shudder, along with a gale of manic laughter. He'd never felt this spiritual in all his fucking life, and it was confusing the shit outta him. Maybe it was the time machine.

"I want _you_ to wait," John said.

"We should move quickly to counter Skynet's offensive," the T said.

Kyle blinked. What did that mean?

"_Wait._"

The Terminator said nothing and moved back to the field of defeated robots, checking methodically for survivors.

John turned to Kyle Reese and stared at him for a long time. Kyle only stared back, waiting.

--

John stared at the little kids as they played for a long time. One of the fathers had joined them and they were playing T-ball.

Wasn't fair.

--

"Kyle. You saw those infiltrators."

"Yes, sir."

John looked back to the machine. He seemed... _weighted,_ old now. "Skynet is employing a contingency against us. It's sending back infiltrators to make things smoother for its reign... to ensure its existence, strengthen the metal ahead of time... and to kill certain people before they can become a thorn in it's side."

Kyle nodded. He knew where this was going.

"I don't know about all those triple eights, but I do know about two of those things." His expression darkened for a brief moment. "They want me. And my mother. Two assassins, in two different times. If one fails, the other can succeed and make sure I can't... that I can't do what I'm supposed to do."

"Supposed to," Kyle echoed. "Sir, how do you know all this?"

"It's not important. You're a smart man, Kyle. And you're brave, braver than I could ever be. You're one of our best soldiers."

This was it. This was what John had been maneuvering to. It was why he'd let Derek get captured, so there'd be no hitches. It all made perfect, crystal sense.

Reese spoke slowly, carefully. "You want me to go back. Stop one of those things."

"That's right, Kyle. I want you to protect my mother and make sure she isn't murdered by a T-800 model 101. He looks exactly like that guy over there." He pointed to the stalking T-800.

His mother. _That_ woman. The one who'd taught John how to fight. That grim looking woman in the photograph. John said she'd been his compass, his very core for years and years until...

Well, she'd been Kyle's core as well. Lucky charm in the photo. A distant, ineffable figure he could only dream about.

To meet her in person? To play a role in that? How could he say no?

"Why me, sir?" Kyle was barely breathing.

But John only cocked an eyebrow. "Because you volunteered, son."

--

The little t-ball bounced next to John's quivering form, making a soft _plop_ sound on the beach. One of the kids was waddling over to retrieve it, yelling for John to pick it up, but he didn't even hear the little shitter. He was staring blurredly at the ground, unable to box up his grief any longer. He was gone. Only a hero. That was all he'd ever be.

In a way, it felt appropriate. Somehow.

_Daddy. I'd do anything just to see you._

--

John explained everything. He talked about phonebooks and how he could use that to locate Sarah. He told him to stay away from the cops. To be discrete. He mentioned how important it was to avoid heavy traffic if he found a vehicle, and to always move. Kyle would be an odd-man out in Los Angeles, 1984. It'd be a world he only distantly remembered, a culture he couldn't understand if he tried.

That mattered very little to Kyle, because as far as he was concerned, he was nothing but the mover now. The doer. He felt selfless, like he existed only to bring ultimate glory to this man John Connor, protect his mother, ensure the fate of the Resistance. He loved that woman, he loved this man, he'd spent his entire life fighting for one purpose. _His_ purpose, and this was the culmination of all that. He knew his answer as soon as John folded his arms, which were shaking rapidly and said, "Will you do it?"

"Yes, sir. I'd do anything for you."

--

The little boy plucked up the t-ball and stared at the big kid. The big kid was crying.

Kyle didn't like that. Whenever _Derek_ cried he felt weird. Derek talked a lot about being mashure, or mature. Kyle was supposed to cry, not all these big kids. What did they have to be so worried about? Weren't they tough?

It could be. Or it couldn't be. Kyle rolled with the punches. This was what he saw, and there was no interpreting it in any other way. The kid was sad.

Maybe he should help him.

Kyle reached out with his stubby arms and wrapped them round the kid's side. The kid started and gawked at him.

"It's ok," Kyle said. "It'll all be alright."

Mom said that a lot at uncle Richard's funeral. It'll be alright. It's ok. She said that to Derek and Kyle, to make them feel better, so Kyle now found himself saying it to this kid.

"You're ok."

"Come on, git back here!" Derek yelled.

The big kid smiled suddenly and returned the embrace, gripping Kyle like he was a lifeline. Kyle Reese didn't mind it.

--

General Connor couldn't take his eyes away as Kyle stood there on the platform. He'd dropped his ordnance at the stairs. Even for things like this, you couldn't afford to waste equipment.

Wasting equipment. Was this it? Was this the waste? Should John tell him now?

No. _That_ had the potential to waste the equipment. Destroy the drive of this man, John's father, before he did his duty, fulfilled his destiny.

He'd be better off not knowing. So he could do what he needed to do. So he could become a hero.

It felt like John was starting up a vicious cycle, subjecting his younger self to agonizing grief.

But there were things more important than that. John himself still had a job to do.

_Do it. Submit your own father to his death. _

"Cameron," John yelled. "Would you please hit that button?"

"Yes, sir."

The T-800, himself a parent in his own warped fashion, stood by John Connor as he looked to Kyle and said, "Remember the message I told you!"

Kyle nodded at once, almost mechanically, yet... yet like it was nothing. He was selfless, like an angel. "Yes, sir."

_How poetic. _

"Good luck," General Connor said.

Kyle Reese saluted as he disappeared from in a flash of light. In less than a minute he'd find himself naked in a back alley, listening to the raving cries of a bum. And then... history would run its course.

"That was my father," John said idly. He felt...

Like he'd done the right thing. Nothing else but that. He'd sacrificed his father, and his father knew that. It was the closest thing to a deal they'd ever have, and John supposed he could at least have that much.

The T-800 merely shrugged.

"You're next," said John.

Nothing left but to settle accounts and enjoy the future that had been given to him.

--

Derek Thomas Reese watched John quietly as the teenager sat next to him. Waiting. He was completely lucid, as if his recent wounds were of no import to him. John supposed that they weren't.

"What happened to my brother?" He didn't call John by his name. The anger in him was too fresh for that.

John Connor didn't have Kyle Reese as a father. Not now. Earlier today he did, although he hadn't realized it. But John decided that that didn't matter. The father was only as good as the man himself, and that man was the greatest, most selfless person John would ever encounter.

That was enough, for now. _It'll be ok, _that kid had said. And for now, yes. It would. They could only move on for now. Find the Turk. Get to know this man, his one link to Kyle. Let things flow as they should. To wish for the moon was foolishness.

It'd be difficult, but John would wait.

"Kyle Reese..." John looked at Derek Reese. "Your brother... he came across time to protect me. He died fighting the machines."

Derek was silent.

John took in a deep breath. "He was a soldier, and he was..."

_He was your brother, he was Sarah's lover, and he was my father. _

John could feel Sarah behind him, waiting. Waiting for him to... It hurt, but...

"He was a hero."

Derek Reese closed his eyes and laid his head back, satisfied with this. For John Connor, for everyone else in the room, that had to do for now. It was enough. That was daddy.

"He was a hero."


End file.
